


Blessed

by ceallaig



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Marriage, No Smut, as if that weren't pretty obvious, except by inference briefly, sugar shock warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceallaig/pseuds/ceallaig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fate, they say, laughs at certainty."  Just when he's convinced he will remain alone, Mahal sends the King a blessing in the form of his One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon fic request for some super sweet Thorin/Reader fluff. I can't write the "you" fic, so you'll have to settle for "she". If Thorin ever found his One, I think this might just work ... Super sticky sweet, will rot your teeth, don't say you haven't been warned!

He’d thought to spend his life alone, his kingdom and his people being enough to fill the holes in his heart. As for the notion of finding his One … well, that was well enough for the younger ones, but after nearly two centuries he was certain his time had passed.

Fate, they say, laughs at certainty. 

It was said that the marriage was the making of Thorin Oakenshield, and in this opinion he would concur. He’d never felt so much at peace, despite the rigors of kingship, and he turned newly opened eyes upon everything from his family to his people. His reign, in years to come, would become legend, and a deal of the credit would be given to his consort. His inner demons no longer taunted him—her touch could soothe away the gravest doubts, the love in her eyes quiet the deepest fears, the strength in her soul granting him steel when it was needed. 

Did that mean that it was always quiet? Of course not—she was as strong-willed as her husband, and there were times when no one went near the royal quarters. The sounds of shouting, breakables smashing against stone, epithets in Khuzdul that could make even a hardened warrior like Dwalin gape in amazement—not even the heirs, much-lauded for their valor in battle, dared interfere. Then there would be a terrible silence, more unnerving than the noise, as everyone waited in the eye of the storm. Neither would speak to, or even of, the other for hours.

But it never lasted. Tempers would cool, and it was not long before regret set in, and the need for closeness. Thorin would disappear to the market at Dale to replace a trinket that his queen had smashed in her anger, or she would go to the kitchens to prepare a special dish that she knew he loved. The peace offering would be made, and accepted, and the sounds coming from the royal chamber would be far different. 

Though they still made Dwalin uncomfortable.

Thorin cherished the quiet times when, the day’s tasks done, he and his beloved could spend an evening together, with no fear of interruption, or have a rare afternoon to themselves. Reading together, taking turns and providing voices for the characters; going to the topmost tower to gaze at the stars and remember stories they were told as children about the shapes in the sky; brushing and braiding each other’s hair; her sweet voice soaring over the melody of his harp; spending time at the market on bright cloudless days. Hands touching, gazes meeting, smiles reflected in each other’s eyes. Those were the moments when the world fell away, and it was just the two of them, and in those moments he knew Mahal had indeed blessed him.


End file.
